


Awakening in Arles

by toewsyourheart



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, First Kiss, Growing Up, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: Damen and Laurent meet. Six years later, they meet again.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 420





	Awakening in Arles

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [amazing (!!!!!!!) artwork from @saltroclus](https://saltroclus.tumblr.com/post/617936407079600128/dear-valued-vendors-please-find-attached-herewith) (on tumblr) of Laurent and Damen’s respective panic and pining upon seeing the other for the "first" time. 
> 
> Their ages follow the canon change: 
> 
> Laurent 14->20  
> Damen 19->25  
> Auguste 25->31
> 
> POV switches back and forth from Laurent to Damen every scene, with a surprise POV at the end ;)

Laurent was in the library, sitting among his dearest friends, apart from his brother Auguste and prize-winning horse: 

His books. 

There were hundreds of them lining dozens of shelves along the walls, and because his father was King of Vere, all of it belonged to Laurent by extension. 

He was thrilled and fortunate to have so many. Laurent loved to live through stories, to be transported to other worlds in his mind and go on magical adventures without ever leaving the palace. He had a hunger to learn everything he could—every language and battle strategy, and an endless number of useful facts to share with Auguste. From the moment he learned to read, he had promised himself he would devour them all, even the boring ones, because knowledge and stories were never really boring to Laurent. 

Except on the day the Akielon Prince came to visit Arles. 

As a demonstration of trust and good faith, he had come ahead of the Akielon King Theomedes and arrived without splendor or festivity, hopping off his horse with a modest guard of only two men at either flank. Laurent had not even left his rooms to greet him. He knew he had come for Auguste. Theirs was the business of heirs, not second sons. 

That morning, Laurent carried on as usual. He sat in his favorite chair in his favorite corner of the library with his favorite snacks. With his legs folded comfortably beneath him, he tried to focus on his studies. 

They could not hold his attention. 

Cruelly, he could hear the faint sound of commotion, laughter and the clanging of swords drifting in through the open window. 

He tried to resist. 

Really, he did. 

His curiosity took him over to look out. 

Down below in the courtyard, Laurent saw them—his brother and the Prince of Akielos. They were sparring, a small crowd gathered around to catch a glimpse of the Princes and their budding friendship. It was an important symbol for their countries. Once disputing, now reaching peace. Laurent knew the significance, even from the periphery as he was. Not long ago, whispers of war frightened him to nightmares. Despite his unwavering confidence in his older brother, he could not risk Auguste leaving for battle and never returning to him. He would not survive it. 

Watching the two of them, Laurent felt especially relieved that their nations would be signed into a peaceful alliance within the week. 

The Prince of Akielos was… imposing, physically. Younger than Auguste, Laurent knew, but taller, wider, with a longer reach, and very, very skilled. Auguste was the best fighter in Vere. The Akielon Prince was rumored to be the best fighter on the whole continent. It was unsettling in more ways than Laurent could place. 

His clothing was sparse, an Akielon custom. His accent was heavy, detectable even at a distant height, deep and strong. His laugh was—

Captivating. Laurent thought he might go and hear it up close.

His pulse bounded as he walked, a massive book in tow, as fast as his legs would carry him. He knew he must hurry before his mind changed and he chickened out of his plan: He would casually read resting against a tree nearby where they were sparring. 

He would not be watching the Prince of Akielos at all. Only reading. 

As he approached, Laurent made himself as unobtrusive as possible, his eyes careful on the broad back of the Akielon Prince. He had not yet made it to the tree, and so looking at him was still permitted.

His upper body was distractingly bare, his complexion dark and golden warm, with thick, curly hair to match. Everything else seemed to fade to black as Laurent looked him over, once, then again, admiring the way his muscles flexed beneath smooth skin. He was unlike anyone Laurent had ever seen. 

As Laurent made to move past them to his chosen tree, horrifically, Auguste yelled to him, blowing his cover: 

“Laurent! You came out of your room, little brother!” It was not as shocking as Auguste’s voice suggested. Then— “Come and meet Damianos.” 

Laurent simply could not, but now he  _ must _ . 

The Prince of Akielos turned. 

Laurent’s mouth dropped open, a muted gasp escaping him, and without his permission, his feet brought him over to them. 

The Prince was smiling, brighter than the sun that shined in Laurent’s eyes. A dimple adorned his left cheek. He said, in perfect Veretian, “Good morning, Your Highness,” and gave a bow of his head. “It’s an honor to meet you.” 

Laurent had a funny feeling fluttering in his stomach, heated all over. The Prince’s mere presence was quite nearly more overwhelming than his… everything else. Had Auguste  _ honestly _ needed to call his name? Did he  _ live _ to humiliate him?

Through his internal crisis, Laurent answered in his best Akielon, “Hello, Damianos. Welcome to Arles.” 

“Akielon!” the Prince said, delighted. He had been practicing for the visit. Then, much to Laurent’s surprise, he added, “Damen. Call me Damen.” 

“Damen,” Laurent repeated, smiling. The Prince had not even permitted Auguste to call him that. Laurent’s cheeks were surely the shade of the apples he had fed his horse with breakfast that morning. 

“Did you come to watch us?” Auguste asked, reaching out to ruffle his hair. The nerve. Laurent wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“I came to read,” Laurent deflected, gesturing with his book. 

“And what have you come to read?” the Prince— _ Damen _ —asked. His tone held kindness and something akin to genuine interest, and Laurent was, again, taken aback. He did not expect the Prince to be so warm. Whatever the rush of feelings was inside Laurent, he had never experienced it before. 

“Oh, um—” Laurent stumbled his words, silently wishing for death. He had read the book countless times but could suddenly, uselessly remember nothing. “It’s just a silly story about a Prince on an adventure.”

“I happen to love silly stories about princes on adventures,” Damen said, using the towel a servant had brought to wipe the sweat from his neck and shoulders. “Perhaps you’ll tell me about it later?” 

“Of course,” Laurent nodded, his smile growing wider despite his efforts to conceal it. Ill-timed or not, he took that as his cue to leave, backing away slowly then turning quickly to retreat in case Damen changed his mind. 

“Well then,” Auguste chuckled, calling to him again, “See you around, little brother!” 

Laurent threw a half-wave over his shoulder, utterly mortified. Again with the  _ little brother _ . He was trying to make friends with the Prince of Akielos! Auguste was not helping!

Once he arrived at his chosen tree, Laurent positioned it between them, taking a deep breath behind the safety of its wide trunk as he sat and leaned his back against it. After collecting himself, he opened his book to think about the best parts he might share, if asked by someone. 

If Laurent peered around the tree a few times for another look at the Prince as he read, that was no one’s business but his own.

+++ 

Damen rode into Arles for the first time in six years, with Nikandros and a single guard at his back just as he had come before. 

The countryside was vibrant, the breeze sweet and floral in the summertime. Damen felt rejuvenated upon his arrival. It was fun to escape Ios for a change, and to leave his country entirely was an adventure, especially for one as…stimulating as Vere. Another visit was long overdue; only this time, the King of Akielos would not be following behind him. It was a trip for catching up, not business, and Damen trusted the Veretians. 

They were, in a shocking turn of events for both countries, the closest ally of Akielos. Since the signing of their treaty, peace and friendship prevailed, which was a stark contrast from the violent past his father had taught him about growing up. 

And so, over the years, the Kings corresponded through letters, as did the Princes. As for the Prince of Vere’s younger brother, Damen sent him books once in a while. More silly stories about princes and other things with simple handwritten notes inside, inspired by their first meeting. He had hoped he liked them. Now Damen could ask. 

As he rode toward the palace, he passed a set of stables, grand and ornate as he remembered everything else in Arles. There were stablehands working, noblemen waiting for their mounts to be saddled. He wondered how many horses the building held and to whom they all belonged. 

Then, a young man walked out, his stride so graceful, as though moving on air. His hair was striking, golden yellow, with longer strands framing his lovely face. He carried himself with an arresting elegance, his expression neutral with an aura of unattainability. He was, indisputably, the most breathtaking individual Damen had ever seen. Since his last visit to Vere, he had warmed to the idea of men, bedding them when it suited him, but never had one bewitched him quite so strongly, so quickly, without a word or an act beyond walking. 

Damen stopped his horse in her tracks, squinting at him in the sunlight. He looked oddly familiar, but of course, Damen knew no one from Arles of his own age. He had not been there in a half dozen years. Suddenly, he wished to know _ this _ man from Arles. 

That singular, acute desire drove him off his horse without a second thought. 

“What are you doing, Damianos?” Nikandros asked, alarm dripping from his words. 

Damen barely looked at him. “Nothing. Go on to the palace. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Will you?” Nikandros pressed, dubious as ever. 

“Yes,” Damen answered. “Take my horse. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” 

“I’m sure,” Nikandros grumbled, and if he said anything more after taking the reins from him, Damen was too far away to hear it. 

He turned the corner where the young man had gone, finding him with his sword in an empty arena around the opposite side of the stables. Meant for training horses, he was training himself. 

As he approached, Damen said, in soft Veretian, “Hello there.”

The young man looked, blinking a few times in quick succession, then looked again with a secret in his eyes. 

“Hello,” he said back, also in Veretian, a smile pleasantly threatening his mouth. 

“Do you keep a horse here?” Damen asked, unfortunately the first viable question to cross his mind through his nerves. It was unusual for him to experience them in any pursuit. 

It was exciting. 

“Have you come to police the stables?” the young man returned, tilting his head to one side in question. It was interesting he seemed to pay no mind to Damen’s status, obvious as it was with the red cape and golden lion pin at his shoulder. Damen did not care. He could do anything short of cursing his mother’s grave, and Damen might accept it. 

He was gorgeous, even in confusion, his eyes intensely blue and penetrating right through to the center of him, it seemed. His features were delicate in some ways, stronger and more distinctive in others. The sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline, the plush curve of his lips, his flawless skin… 

“No. Of course not. I just—” Damen faltered. “I’m only curious about you.” 

He lowered his gaze. Damen interpreted the flush that rose to his cheeks as a sign of encouragement. He eventually said, “I keep many, but only one is truly mine. Her name is Dauphiné.” 

“That’s a beautiful name,” Damen said. His accent flowing from that pretty mouth only served to enhance it all. “I would like to know the name of Dauphiné’s owner as well, if he would like that in return.” 

His smile grew wider, more amused than Damen thought warranted. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?” 

Damen furrowed his brow. “What do you mea—” 

“Damianos, my friend!” Auguste’s voice boomed from behind him with impeccable timing. Damen wanted to shoo him away. “I see you’ve found my little brother already!” 

Damen recoiled at his words, stammering, “I’m sorry—Your little— _ What _ ?” 

Little brother. 

Damen was stunned. It was as though the ground shifted beneath his feet, the world turning on its head to reconcile what he previously knew with who stood before him and what he saw and felt now. This was not a stablehand or a nobleman waiting for his horse. He had not cared that Damen was the Prince because he, too, was the Prince. 

He was completely blind not to see it. 

The blushing fourteen year old he met six years ago had grown into a man. A very attractive man. 

It was Laurent. And he was laughing, silently to himself. 

Damen could not locate his voice to speak. 

“Yes, Your Highness, he found me, but I was just leaving. I’m sure you two have fascinating things to attend to after all this time,” Laurent said, walking past where he stood in shock next to Auguste on his way out. Cooly, he murmured, in much-improved Akielon, “Welcome back to Arles, Damianos.” 

Damen could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed, after him. 

+++

Laurent could not believe it.

He pressed his back against the wall just outside the door for a brief moment of collection, to think. 

The Prince of Akielos was back in Arles, two days ahead of schedule, and he had approached Laurent, having not realized who he was. 

_ Having not realized who he was.  _

It was remarkable, hilarious, intriguing. 

It meant— 

Laurent could not stand to think about what it could mean, only that he had thought about him every day, in one way or another, since he  _ was _ that fourteen year old boy Damen thought him to have been frozen as, apparently. It explained the books. Laurent cherished them, but he had stopped reading fairy tales years ago. 

He chuckled to himself, again, and in the same second, realized his moment of gathering himself had lasted too long. 

Much to his extreme embarrassment, Auguste and the Prince of Akielos walked out through the same door Laurent had just exited. He suddenly wished himself still a child, that Auguste would pretend him invisible like the games of hide and seek they used to play together. 

No such luck today. 

“Laurent, what on earth are you doing?” Auguste asked, rightfully baffled. 

“Obviously waiting on a future Kings’ escort to the palace,” Laurent said, the best recovery he could think of on the spot. It, unfortunately, now required a walk to the palace. 

“Hmm. Sure,” Auguste said, the tone of his voice suggesting it would not be the last Laurent heard on the subject, even as he wrapped a loving arm around his neck, only briefly hugging him close before his merciful release. 

Damen was quiet, amusingly then alarmingly so, until— 

“How have you been, Your Highness?”

It was obvious to whom he spoke. 

Laurent could not help himself. “Fine, I suppose. Busy aging, like the rest of humanity.” 

“Lau-rent…” Auguste muttered under his breath, each emphasized syllable individually scolding. 

The look on Damen’s face rendered it worth the trouble. As future King, he was not used to being spoken to so freely, that much was clear. Laurent would have to break him in during his current stay at Arles.

Thankfully for the future Kings, they arrived at the palace, where more Akielons were waiting for Damen. 

Laurent remembered one of them. Nikandrios, or something. The way he was glaring at his Prince suggested to Laurent that perhaps he was the catalyst for Auguste’s hasty interruption of their reunion. 

He had never seen someone look quite so constipated. 

Instantly, Damen was enveloped in attention, his parents making their way into the parlor to greet him, and Laurent slipped away without a sound. 

+++

They did, in fact, have things to attend to, as Laurent had said. 

They were not fascinating. Damen did not care about any of them now. 

Laurent had swiftly disappeared as soon as they arrived back at the palace, just as he did at the stables. Auguste had eyed him with critical suspicion after both events, and Damen could produce nothing redeemable to say for himself whatsoever eithe time. 

It was obvious he had not known who Laurent was, but in all honesty, Damen was not sure that it mattered much now. He was, inexplicably, drawn to him. He must tread more lightly, but he would still tread. 

The past was the past. The Prince was not a boy anymore. 

Rejoined with his company, Nikandros was positively radiant with judgment. Damen suspected he should be the one asking the questions. 

Later, in a meeting with the King and Queen and lots of nameless Veretians that could barely hold his attention, he thought he might. 

“Did you know that was the Prince of Vere at the stables?” Damen asked Nikandros under his breath. 

“Did you  _ not  _ know that was the Prince of Vere at the stables?” Nikandros returned, in a way that signaled an end to the current inquiry. 

He had most certainly sent Auguste to intervene, then. 

The traitor. 

+++

Dinner was impossible. 

With Damen seated across from him, it was a constant temptation to look at him every time Laurent brought his eyes up from his own plate. 

The years had not changed him as much as they had changed Laurent, only enhancing the foundation that was already there. He carried an affirmed sense of power in his body, his muscles and facial features more defined with age. He showed more skin at their table than anyone had since the last time he visited. 

He was absolutely mouthwatering. 

Periodically, Laurent could feel that he was being looked at. It was not surprising that Damen’s gaze alone was imposing, even as he struggled not to squirm beneath it. He liked it, the feeling of being wanted by someone he wanted back. 

It was also very amusing to see the look of unfamiliar territory on Auguste’s face as Laurent received attention from visitors that was usually reserved only for him. Another thing a future King was not accustomed to. 

Damen asked him questions during every lull in broader talks with his family, their whispered conversation taking a shape of its own. They weren’t intrusive inquiries, more a means of exploring who Laurent had become, his likes and dislikes, delivered with the same sincerity Damen had shown to him all those years ago when asking about his reading. 

They discussed travel, paintings and sculpture, music, particularly Akielon song and dance, more about horses, the tediousness of Veretian outfits… 

Damen was more cultured than Laurent thought possible for an Akielon. He smiled more than he could last remember smiling. 

It was nice. 

+++

Long after dinner, the late night Veretian Court was in full swing, with wine, ale, extravagant meats and sweets, and erotic performances aplenty. 

With King Aleron and Queen Hennike long gone to bed in another wing of the palace entirely, things had begun to take a turn with only Princes left to rule this one. Everywhere, there were bodies: ones gathered talking, dancing, bumping into one another, kissing; ones painted and scantily clothed, adorned with gaudy jewels; ones overly, intricately clothed. It was an intoxicating environment, easy to let oneself get entangled in if they were not very mindful. 

Damen had a pint or two of ale himself, a feeble attempt to settle the pounding of his heart in his chest. His eyes were constantly searching, searching, searching… 

Time and time again they came up empty of the person he sought most, who had disappeared—obviously out of long-standing habit—shortly after dinner. It was surely Damen’s punishment for every lingering glance and stolen bit of conversation with him as they had eaten their meals at a massive table with Laurent’s entire family. 

Everyone else wished to speak with him now, though, vying for his company. Auguste was perpetually draped over his side, but it was welcomed. It was not his fault that Laurent’s pale head and blue eyes consumed Damen’s every thought. Despite his…distraction, Auguste had become a dear friend over the years—if a distant one—and the golden boy Crown Prince of Vere made for a fantastic time. He liked to enjoy himself, and the people enjoyed him. There was no question about that. He would wisk Damen away to private, lavish parties every night, all night, if Damen allowed it. 

A peripheral flash of hair that Damen would never fail to recognize again caught his attention. He whipped his head to it, meeting an icy blue stare that, after a seemingly pointed moment, turned and disappeared around the corner and out of sight. 

Damen warred with himself over the intention. It was either an invitation or wishful thinking on his part that Laurent might want to be pursued. He would have to find out in a minute, for better or worse, which possibility was reality. 

He excused himself as inconspicuously as possible and followed Laurent down a long, quiet corridor, dimly lit with only a few candles at such a late hour. Up a winding set of stairs, Damen lost him, but miraculously, came to a dead end passage with Laurent at its conclusion. There was a massive door with an intricate design carved into its wood behind him. 

“Has the Prince of Akielos followed me to my chambers?” Laurent asked, casually leaned against the door. He wore a loose, white linen shirt that laced at his wrists and neck, fabric tantalizingly thin… He had changed clothes since dinner. 

“Damen,” Damen reiterated, and because he needed to hear it explicitly, he asked in a spill of words, “Do you want me to go? I will, immediately, if I’ve gotten the wrong—”

“No,” Laurent stopped him, then averted his eyes as if embarrassed at how quickly he had objected. Slightly quieter, “I don’t want you to go.” 

“I’m sorry I did not recognize you at the stables,” Damen offered, taking a tentative step forward. Part of him feared that if he moved too suddenly, the Prince would disappear. Again. 

“Are you?” Laurent asked. “I’m not. I have grown bored of only being known for who my older brother is.”

Damen thought about the question. Was he? It didn’t take long to reach a more honest answer, since Laurent had given one. “No. The first time we met seems like an eternity from today. You’ve…” 

“Changed? Imagine that,” Laurent provided, smirking. “You haven’t. Not much.” 

“Have I not?” Damen asked, intensely curious about Laurent’s memories of him. 

“Not that I can see with my eyes,” Laurent said. His smile turned bashful, that same rosiness returning to his cheeks. “You’re still just as…” 

“Just as what?” Damen said, leading. 

“Stop—” Laurent’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. “You don’t need to hear me say it.” 

“I might,” Damen said. Another step. He thought of something. “Do you still have the books I sent to you?”

“Of course,” Laurent answered, then, with a deep breath, “Would you like to see them?” He placed his hands flat on the door behind him to indicate where he meant. 

Damen’s eyes widened. For clarification, “Inside your room?” 

“Yes,” Laurent said. “Most of my books are in the library down the hall—” A nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Others aren’t.” 

“I—” Damen could not believe he was invited into Laurent’s chamber and that he was on the brink of accepting that invitation. Nikandros would lose his mind if he knew. Auguste, too. The whole kingdom, collectively. But Damen wanted what he wanted, and so he said, “I would love to see them, Laurent.” 

Laurent turned the handle without looking away from him, slowly pushing the door open until Damen could walk through. 

Closing it behind them, Laurent nodded toward a shelf against the wall of his massive room, a sea of blues accented in gold. The ceiling looked like the night sky with bursts of stars all over. His bed was immaculate, canopied, with more pillows than Damen had ever seen in one place. He eyed it as he walked to the shelf, Laurent following closely behind. 

It was nearly full with books, each well read and obviously revisited often. He ran his fingers over the spines of them, pulled one out to touch worn pages... Laurent’s favorites. It seemed a very intimate thing to be shown, inside Laurent’s room of all places, particularly as he glanced at the very bottom row where Laurent was pointing. It was the shelf most sparsely stocked, with only a dozen books or so.

“There they are,” Laurent said. 

“You’ve kept them here?” Damen asked. “All this time?”

“Yes,” Laurent said. “My tastes have evolved a bit over the years, though you seemed to forget that I was aging along with everyone else in the world—” A teasing smile. Damen would never live that down. “But the sentiment behind them, that you continued to think of me… I always loved that part.” 

“Laurent, I’ve done absolutely nothing but think of you all day. I’ve been utterly useless,” Damen admitted, breathless in the face of his feelings. It was different from being with him in the stables or at dinner or in the hallway outside his door, the air between them charged with the freedom of actual privacy, heavy with the weight of that freedom. 

“I do hope your thoughts about me have also… evolved,” Laurent said, “Along with my tastes in literature.” 

“They have. If I thought your brother would let me live to ever do it again,” Damen continued in a moment of sheer boldness, “I might’ve dared to kiss you already.” 

Laurent made a spectacle of looking around his room from where they stood, then took a deliberate step forward into Damen’s space. He said, clearly, “I don’t see my brother anywhere.” 

Before Damen could think better of it, he closed the distance and leaned down to him.

The first meeting of lips was brief, tentative. Damen touched Laurent’s face as gently as he could muster, a caress of fingertips along his cheekbone and the length of his jaw. 

He focused his energy on taking things slowly, keeping his wits about him. He would treat Laurent with the utmost respect and advance at whatever pace suited him, even as he wished to barrel forward. He did not hold in his hands a random man or woman stumbled upon at a tavern or one of Auguste’s parties that he would never see again after one night together. 

He held the Prince of Vere. 

It meant something. 

He would do this properly. 

The first kiss became another, initiated by Laurent, after seconds apart in which they looked into each other’s eyes with longing. Damen was delighted when Laurent’s fingers wound into the hair at his nape. He used his grip to bring his body into the kiss as it deepened, pressing himself into Damen’s arms. 

Wonderfully, his mouth opened for Damen to slip his tongue inside, met eagerly with Laurent’s. He was good with it. Damen was impressed. 

“I cannot believe this is happening,” Damen said after a while spent kissing, breathing rough as he took his mouth to the bits of Laurent’s neck he could reach. He had not worked up the nerve to touch his laces, and he would not, unless Laurent asked. 

He would do anything Laurent asked. The degree to which he might mean it was startling. 

“It doesn’t seem real, even as I can feel you,” Laurent echoed, flexing his fingers against Damen’s neck and shoulders. He sounded as out of his mind with desire and happiness as Damen felt. It was an exhilarating relief to not be alone in it. 

“Maybe it’s a dream,” Damen mused, kissing along the delicate skin beneath his jaw, tempted to suck a mark Laurent could remember him by. “A perfect dream.”

“If it is,” Laurent said, pulling Damen’s mouth back to his, “I want to stay here.” 

“What else do you want, Laurent?” Damen asked, searching his eyes. 

In answer, Laurent hoisted himself off the ground by his hold on Damen’s shoulders, and Damen caught him easily, Laurent’s legs wrapping around his waist. 

Damen gripped his thighs, squeezing appreciatively, and walked Laurent to the bed. 

+++

Laurent was beside himself. 

It was overwhelming enough to have Damen in his room, but to be kissing him, clinging to him and carried to bed as though light as a feather… It was an out-of-body experience, better in reality than Laurent could have ever dreamed up in his mind. 

It was not the first kiss he had shared with someone, though there had not been many or anything beyond it, but it was his first with anyone in which he felt he might shiver out of his own skin, that his heart might beat wildly from his chest and offer itself for the taking. 

Laurent had stopped reading fairy tales, but it did not mean he no longer believed in them. 

He thought Damen might be his.

“You see me,” Laurent said, a revelation as they reached the bed. 

“I see you,” Damen repeated, kissing him in a manner that suggested he meant to prove it, before laying him down. 

Laurent reached for the string at his neck in a jolt of bravery, making the first pull at his laces, intentionally slowly. “I want you to see the rest.” 

Damen’s mouth dropped open, much to his satisfaction, then he smiled, showing that dimple in his left cheek—the one Laurent might have very well fallen in love with years ago—and followed him to the mattress. 

+++

“What do you want, Laurent?” Damen asked again, braced over him, bending his head to scatter languid, soft kisses across his chest and collarbones once the laces at his neck were opened wide. 

It took a moment for the answer to come. For all of Laurent’s cool confidence, Damen could sense him gathering his nerve. He suddenly felt unprepared for what Laurent might reveal.

“I want you,” Laurent said, swallowing hard in his honesty, “To be the first. Tonight, or tomorrow, or the next... I want it to be you.” 

Damen froze. He had assumed Laurent less experienced, but the idea of being the  _ first _ melted his brain to mush. 

He lifted his head to hold and read Laurent’s eyes as he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Laurent answered, unwavering now that he had voiced his desires, “More than sure.” 

He would prove worthy of it. 

“If I do anything you don’t enjoy, at all,” Damen said, bringing his mouth to Laurent’s to kiss him, “Tonight—“ Another kiss. “Or tomorrow—“ Another. “Or the next—“ Another. “Stop me. Please.” 

“You won’t. You couldn’t,” Laurent assured him, then in an alluring whisper, “Though I look forward to giving you the opportunity.” 

“It will be my honor to have it,” Damen said, pressing, “Still, promise me.” 

“I do,” Laurent conceded, removing the pin at his shoulder to resume the task of undressing them. “I promise.” 

Every notion of taking things slowly left Damen’s consciousness with each piece of clothing removed from Laurent’s body. Figuratively, anyway. Literally, it was an agonizing process, with the rest of the lacing that had to be undone, while Damen had been disrobed in seconds. 

The wait made the result that much more rewarding. He was overcome, in constant astonishment that the Prince of Vere wanted Damen to be the first to make love to him, that he lay beneath him, now flawlessly naked.

Laurent was surprisingly athletic in build, long and lean but defined in ways that suggested he made habit of what Damen had caught him doing in the stables with his sword. It was another pleasant discovery that Laurent enjoyed training. Damen wondered if they might do it together, later during his stay... The possibility of spending time with him, after tonight in the light of day, was exciting in a new sense, sending his stomach into flips. 

For now, Damen wanted nothing more than to put his mouth and hands on him everywhere at once, to feel every blessed inch of him, to make whatever happened here last an eternity... 

Damen was dizzy thinking of which means he might explore first in pleasuring Laurent, then carefully, tenderly, set about taking him apart, piece by piece. 

“Damen,” Laurent moaned, again and again, music to his ears. “ _ Damen _ .” 

His name had never sounded so sweet. 

+

+

BONUS AUGUSTE POV:

Auguste was growing tired of looking for Damianos. Every second his absence persisted was another second Auguste feared his suspicions to be the truth. 

He had not seen the Prince of Akielos since he mysteriously vanished the night before, and he had not seen Laurent in even longer; however, he  _ had _ seen the way they looked at each other, sensed the tension between them when he caught them at the stables then resumed at dinner, only heightened. 

It was morning!

He was not an idiot. Neither was Nikandros. 

Damianos’s reputation in bed was not rumor. It was validated fact. He was there a lot, hardly with the same person twice. In fairness, Auguste could not argue his own practices differed much, but as it turned out, he was not in Akielos fucking Damianos’s brother. 

Their involvement risked years of peace and nauseated Auguste in the process. 

So, they had split their efforts in searching. Nikandros checked the stable grounds and Damianos’s guest quarters, again. 

Auguste had searched the courtyard, the common areas inside the main palace, and now held his breath as he ascended the winding staircase, walking the long, ominous corridor to the last place he wanted to look: 

Laurent’s room. 

He knocked, on edge as he waited, fighting the urge to press his ear to the door. He leaned closer instead. It was not quite as intrusive.

He heard hushed voices, only one of which definitively belonged to Laurent… 

Stifled giggling… … 

Auguste thought he might vomit. 

The door cracked, and Laurent’s voice came through it, “Go away, Auguste.” 

He would not. 

“I will,” Auguste bargained, “After you assure me that I won’t find Damianos of Akielos in there.” 

“You won’t,” Laurent answered, “Because I have not invited you to look for Damianos of Akielos in here.” 

Auguste groaned. Laurent was impossible. 

“But  _ is he _ in there?” 

“You asked for it,” Laurent said, flatly, throwing the door open with a flick of his wrist. 

The scene was appalling, disorienting: 

Damianos was in Laurent’s bed, attempting to hide among the pillows, their clothing strewn about, apart from Damianos’s red cape that Laurent had wrapped around himself as his only means of covering. It was obvious what had happened here. 

Auguste wished for blindness, maybe death, with all of his heart. 

“Damianos, my brother wishes to bid you good morning,” Laurent said, shamelessly unrepentant. “He could not wait until breakfast, apparently.” 

“Laurent!” Auguste said, “Fuck! How long has this been going on?”

“That’s really none of your—” 

“ _ How _ long?” 

Laurent rolled his eyes. “For god’s sake, Auguste, he just rode into Arles yesterday.” 

“Not for the first time…” Auguste said, the disturbing implication hanging in the air.

“Easy, Auguste. It has only been the one night,” Damianos offered, as if one night was not one night too many itself. He still covered himself up to the neck in Laurent’s blankets. It was ridiculous behavior for a man who did most things either nearly or completely naked, even in public. 

Auguste looked back to Laurent, who had replaced his myriad of unimpressed expressions with his warmest, most indulgent smile. 

He looked only at Damianos. 

Laurent said, “And one morning.”

+

**Author's Note:**

> My first go at an Auguste Lives AU, and honestly, the most idealized, uncomplicated love-at-first sight meeting I could produce. Without Marlas, I really think it could've been like this! *sobs*  
> Thanks for reading!! <3
> 
> I'm on tumblr @watchingtheroad!


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